Molly Brown
by Dragon of Faith AKA Jaylynn
Summary: The Biography of Molly Brown. Some things I *may* have stressed, but most is true. This is something I wrote for school, for Famous Women's Month (March). Don't ask *why* I chose Molly, but I did.


Molly Brown

Disclaimer: I do not own Molly Brown, Mark Twain or the Titanic. However, Cally and Vanessa Carson are mine…all mine…and nothing but mine. …Unless some sisters/mothers-daughters/grandmothers-daughters-ect. have the same names…

I remember once, when I was very small. When I was floating down the Mississippi River near Hannibal, Missouri when I heard a loud roar, like a thousand dogs yelling at a stranger. I was quite frightened, mind you, then I saw it. A cyclone the size of a city, coming towards me at a horrendous speed. 

The water splashed all around me, throwing me into the waters below me. Everything went black.

A few days later, I found myself in a strange house. My eyes were blurry from not using them for a few days, and my body ached with pain. Oh how my body ached!

Then a boy about my age sauntered in the door to the room.

"Oh, you're up," he said with a strong Missourian accent. I don't know where I had seen him before, maybe it was de je vue, but as soon as I saw him, it was like I had known him from the day I was born. 

"Yeah, I'm up," I grumbled. 

"That was some strong tornader," he said. Yes, he said 'tornader.'

"Where am I?" I questioned, rubbing my head where I must have hit it somewhere.

"You're in Hannibal, Missouri."

"I know that!" I snapped. "Who are _you_?"

"Oh! My name is Samuel Clemens. Future author and journalist!" He boasted.

I raised my eyebrow at the boy. "Ain't author and journalist the same thing?" Yes, I know 'ain't' isn't a word, but I was also raised in Missouri, so forgive me.

"Well, if you're going to go technically on me, yes, they are."

After a few minutes of a silence, I spoke up. "I had better get on my way," and I made my way for the front door.

"Wait!" He called after me. 

"What?" I almost snapped involuntarily.

"What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I said putting my hand over my heart apologetically. "I forgot to introduce myself! My name is Margaret Brown." I held out my hand. "You can call me Molly."

He nodded his head. "Molly," he repeated silently, looking into my eyes. "Well, um, sorry to keep you. You have a long journey ahead of you," he said snapping out of his daze and ushered me out of the door. 

"Bye Samuel!" I called over my shoulder. He just waved from his front porch as I continued down the fenced dirt street.

Too bad that was only my first of many adventures. The next, to my surprise, was much more, how should I put this? Exciting? Glamorous? And yes, even Terrifying. 

My journey upon the great Titanic was exquisite. The first class was set apart from the second, and the same with the second and third class. 

"The Unsinkable Titanic," was what they called it. "Not even the giant swipe of God's great hand can sink this ship." I laughed at this statement since I was a great Christian, and anything man could make, God could make better and most likely destroy it quicker than it was made.

Boarding the ship in Cherbourg, France, the Titanic's second stop, I make my way up the almost vertical slope towards the towering ship above me from the tiny ferry that took me out away from the country that I had lived in for the past three years. Cherbourg had become my home. 

Thankful that I was going to my real home, America, to see my real home in Colorado, I boarded the ship almost uneasily. Not uneasily that I was going to my husband, I just had a very bad feeling about this whole voyage. 

A few years ago, my husband, "J.J." hit the big money, and we moved to France. Too bad my husband had to stay in Cherbourg because of business; I really wanted him with me. 

The trip went smoothly, so far. Everyone spoke of icebergs farther in our tracks. I didn't worry much about it, but it did bring a chill down my spine. Why is everyone so…so…frantic over the small things? It just doesn't make sense to me.

Sunday, the third to last day on the Titanic. I'll be so happy to get off this huge steel mine. Everything from the constant rhythm of the ship's engines to the sea air that makes my stomach go "grrr," just everything gets on my nerves. I'm so jumpy nowa-days. 

Last night I had a dream that the ship collided with an iceberg ten times as large the ship. Midway down, God's giant hand swept down and grabbed me from the ocean's waters. Halfway to the stars, I woke up with a start. I guess I should just pass it off as a worry. But then I remembered the iceberg warnings. 

I have to get ready for the church sermon now. 

Why they have to call these sermons so early is over my head. I wish they were at least an hour later. Some people like to sleep in on Sunday! 

The sermon went well, I would guess. As I have only been to so many in my life…I'm not a regular face at a church's door. 

One of my ship-board friends, Cally Carson's daughter went up to me at lunch and told me that the ship's captain, Edward J. Smith, is getting very worried about the icebergs. 

Every ship in the area has warned every warning from "Thousands upon millions of icebergs in area STOP," to "Icebergs as huge as houses, be careful STOP."

I don't think much about it. If God wants me bad enough to send an iceberg after the ship I'm sailing on; who am I to argue?

It's about midnight now. Everyone is retiring for the night, but I'm still up. I seriously think that the person who invented corsets should die. These things hurt when you're trying to sleep!

Oh, my! I just heard a bell in the distance! …It sounds like trouble. I'm holding my breath, waiting for the blow to fall…

Everyone's rushing so much now. Only about twenty minutes ago did an iceberg hit the ship. I guess God wants me badly.

I see some of my friends, though undistinguishable against the others rushing past me. I hear women screaming all around me as they plunge into the waters below. I push others forward into the boats, willing to save others than myself. 

"Come on, they will get on another boat. They will be right behind you!" I call as I pull a woman away from her husband. She cries into my shoulder as I set her down into the lifeboat. 

My lifeboat, number six, and I are floating aimlessly in the Atlantic Ocean. Waiting for any sign of another ship. About an hour ago, the ship went down. 

Thousands of people are still out in the waters, crying mercifully for help. Help that will never come because of fear. Fear of swamping a boat. Selfish people these English are! 

They think for none other than themselves. Lowdown and selfish, that's what I call them. 

I sigh and sink lower in my seat as I try to drown out the cries of the people out in the waters…hoping…_hoping_ that God will soon put their souls to rest.

I look up to the crewman aboard our lifeboat. I look him square in the eye.

"We have to save them!" I almost yell at him. I hear my voice echo for miles around.

"They will swamp the bloody boat, you woman!" He cried at me, "Don't you understand!"

A woman, that's what they always call us. A woman. Stupid, worthless for nothing except having children and raising them. I will never understand how that stereotype came about, but I know one thing, and that is: I will change that definition of a woman.

I sank lower in my seat even. Everything seems to fall upon me, doesn't it? I look out at the sea once again and get the strength from the people who are screaming out in the waters.

"We have to save them," I repeated calmly but coldly. 

"They will swamp the bloody boat!" He says with same expression.

I grab an oar before he can stop me. I shrug my shoulders at the other women, as if to say "You know what has to be done! Get to it!"

Six-thirty A.M. on the Carpathia. 

After about six hours in bitter cold weather, you tend to forget what warmth is. Thank God for whoever invented coffee and blankets!

I've only seen about half of the people that I had met on board the Titanic, which is very sad. Only a few third class passengers I've seen had survived. They will post the survivor list later; I will see if Cally and her daughter have survived. I hope they had.

Cally survived but is very sick. I found her in the hospital, waiting for the onboard doctor to check for frostbite. Neither of us have seen or heard of her daughter, Venessa. I feel so sorry for her. I know Venessa meant the world to her. And Venessa had so much going for her, too.

I went down to check the survivor list a little while ago, and Venessa was not on it anywhere. I don't know if I can bring myself to tell Cally. …I think I'll just let her find out for herself. I've always been a pretty good actress. 

They say we'll be in New York on Wednesday. I hope we will. My son is supposed to meet me there. 

I don't think the news of the sinking will have gotten there yet. Let alone the survivors. …I hope he doesn't think that I didn't survive. I don't believe I could take the shame of being told "Oh mother! I was crying thinking that you had gone down with the ship!" I don't think I could take it.

Cally found out about Venessa's death. I felt so badly for her. It looks like she'll be crying the rest of the trip. 

I don't mean to sound rude, but it's just that if someone's dead it's not like they're going to come back the more you cry. 

We arrived in New York about twenty minutes ago. Reporters flocked around the ports and bridges and streets around the arriving ship; blocking anyone from moving anywhere in an understandable amount of time. 

It took me almost an hour-and-a-half to find my son. I could practically see the relief in his eyes when he saw me. I'll never forget that look.

Every night after that fateful and horrible night out on the sea, I have tremendous nightmares about the people in the waters…screaming at me to save them. And everytime I try, I am pulled deeper and deeper into the waters myself. 

When my head is just about to the surface of the water, I wake up, noticing that everything is exactly as I had left it before I fell asleep. 

But, I still wonder, "what if?"

What if something had been different? 

What if someone knew ahead of time that something like that would happen?

What if…

What if…

What if… 


End file.
